Ghosts That We Knew
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Season 8. When Tessa goes after one of her own, she discovers that the rogue reaper has set up an ancient spell to create life where there is none. She finds herself lost in the human world but not alone. One of the souls in her charge, the one who always managed to get away, is close by, which is good, since Dean Winchester is the only person she knows who can help her. Dean/Tessa
1. Part 1 of 3

**Warning**: Non-explicit sexual situations and nudity, language  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit. The title of this story is based on the song by Mumford & Sons.  
**A/N**: This story is set during Season 8's "Torn and Frayed". It's somewhat a "what if" for that episode, so Sam is absent for most of this story. This is three chapters long, about 14k. Enjoy!

**PART 1/3**

In Whitefish, Montana, there stood a cabin that was entirely too quiet to be occupied by the living. Tension thickened the air around its two lone inhabitants. One of them finally moved, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and it was enough of a hint for the other, still sitting on the battered couch, to nod his head in acknowledgement.

Dean realized he'd let the moment stretch on too long, as if he'd expected Sam to decide against his plans—that wasn't going to happen. Dean refused to let regret show on his face. This was nothing; it meant nothing. Taking a swig off a lukewarm bottle, another thing he'd let sit too long, he raised one brow in acknowledgement of the giant hovering over him.

"How long?" he asked, aiming for casual. Aiming for anything but desperate. Hell, he was the one who'd given Sam the ultimatum. _In or out, Sam, in or out_.

"Just a few days."

"A few days?"

"It's just a drive, Dean. To clear my head."

Dean stared straight ahead, through the denim clad legs in his peripheral, pretending there was no Sam right there. Just empty space. "I thought that's what the walk was for?"

He knew the question had come out defensive and he hadn't meant for it to—not after he'd told himself it would be okay, _it would be okay, if both feet were out instead of in. If Sam left again. _But, damn it, he'd thought there'd been an agreement in his brother's eyes, not quite happiness but resolve, and, surely, shit, _surely_ if the resolve was to go back to Amelia, he'd be happy instead of surly and…

Dean blinked away the trail of thought, hoping his shame wasn't showing on his face because, shit, he _knew_, he knew that seeing Sam unhappy shouldn't be a victory.

"Dean, it doesn't mean—" Sam dropped the statement, sighing, but there wasn't any heart in it. Sam's heart wasn't in much of anything these days, and Dean didn't know what that meant.

Dean was starting to think he was an idiot for giving the "it's okay" speech. Nothing was okay when Sam was like this. God, Dean would give anything to see fire in his brother's eyes again. The real stuff, not just overblown annoyance. Even if it was directed entirely at him.

The smile was there, small, tight, forced, and Dean hoped it didn't look mocking. "No, Sam. I get it." His breath was shaky behind his teeth. "Go ahead, man. A couple days off isn't going to kill us, and you need to think this through. I get it."

Even if he _didn't_ get it. Still, the words had come out easy enough. And, he didn't dare ask the last question, the one about whether or not Sam had actually made a choice. Dean could have sworn he knew the answer earlier—Sam was staying. Only…Had his brother actually said that?

Both feet in or both feet out.

_In or out._

Sam hadn't said.

But Dean still nodded, pretending to believe his own shit, and tilted his beer in his brother's direction. "See you in a few days. And, Sam? Be safe."

Sam said something in reply, but Dean had quit listening. The next thing he heard, the next thing he actually_ let_ himself hear, wasn't the zip of a duffel bag or the quiet shut of the front door. No, it was the sound of the borrowed car they kept covered by the cabin. Just in case. Just in case one of them had to bail on the other.

He couldn't just sit there. He had to_ move_.

Dean wasn't sure if he made his next decision or if his body made it for him. He'd own up to the fact that most of his bad ones _were_ his own these days, but this one… This one made itself. He found himself behind the wheels of the Impala sometime after sunset, doing what he did best, hunting.

Only it was more like following. Trailing. Stalking. _Sam._

He kept his distance, so much distance that he could have lost his brother if Sam's habits weren't ingrained in his brain. And if the two of them hadn't made the same drive so recently.

Sam was headed south.

Dean wasn't sure what other people meant when they said they'd go for a drive. To "clear their heads." But for Sam, apparently it meant crossing state lines at no leisurely pace.

Somewhere past Denver, in some small city he'd never been to, when he realized Sam wasn't hitting a motel for the night—a night that had already managed to turn back into day—Dean simply stopped.

He told himself he couldn't catch up, that he'd lost his trail, even if that trail, so far, had been as simple as following I-25. It was a lie. The real reason he'd stopped was because he was weary. Because he didn't want to see where Sam would end up. Or discover what "a few days" translated to when the trip itself took nearly twenty-four hours.

"In or out," Dean whispered, staring at the door to a motel room he hadn't booked yet. There were numbers on the door, but they were all a blur. What if a few days turned out to be a year? Four? A lifetime.

The Impala's door gave a whine, noting her need for a little love, but Dean ignored her and stepped out into a gray world. He wasn't sure how a drive was supposed to clear his head. It seemed to work in the past. Maybe it still worked for Sam, but at the moment, Dean's head was anything but crystal.

Hell, it was pounding. Full and murky. No, the only thing that cleared his mind nowadays was the hunt.

Dean didn't know where he was, but he hoped there was trouble to be found. It would make losing time a little easier, maybe even set him back in that primal mode. Tooth and claw and blood: none of those things could ever hurt as much as the quiet between the battles.

* * *

Death's daughter moved through space without wings, but between one step and the next, she found herself leaving one gray city for another, this one much smaller but equally relevant. All places with souls were relevant; where there was life, and death, her kind were sure to arrive. However, Tessa was not due to visit here any time soon.

Once, Tessa would not have taken notice of the actions of her fellow reapers. She would have trusted them to do their duty, just as she did hers, but this was a new age, and there were signs… Something was _wrong_. The last time she had tried to ignore that feeling of wrong, a demon had reaped a reaper, and she had nearly been wiped from existence as well.

Tessa took on a new form, a recent favorite, and her wraith-like appearance pulled together to create pale skin, dark hair, full lips and kind eyes. Denim stretched across her thighs, boots hugging her ankles, cotton and leather adding weight to her shoulders. She didn't do it for her own sake. Never for her own, but for the spirits. They were from this modern time, and, despite how some reapers appeared to their charges, Tessa found a friendly, almost-familiar smile always warmed them to her best.

Unseen by human eyes, she walked down the center of the crumbling street, between two passing cars, each blaring the sounds of bellowing singers and guitars. A row of clean houses with machine-littered yards stood on either side of her. If she could have been seen, it would have looked as if she were soaking in the daylight, her head cocked to the sky as she reached out, feeling for the souls she sought.

It wasn't as easy as she'd hoped—these souls weren't on her list, and they almost felt…hidden. But, hidden by what means, she wasn't sure. She flinched, ignoring the pull of a soul in need of reaping—it was a distinct energy she recognized and had tried to ignore for years. The one that got away. Still alive and kicking and nearby, not that she needed to reach out to know as much. She'd kept up with Dean Winchester's location, if only because he was hers to reap and, since he'd defied fate so many times, even Tessa couldn't say when that reaping would take place.

And Dean, as much as his actions annoyed her, didn't deserve to have to wait for just any way-ward reaper when his time finally came.

It was a frustrating sensation, not knowing when her duty with his soul would be complete, but it was one she had to push to the back of her mind. This, whatever was happening between these spirits, had nothing to do with hunters, she was certain, and everything to do with another reaper, possibly one in danger.

She turned her head, watching a group of children play in a pile of fallen leaves. The afternoon sunlight shined over them, casting a glow to their tan cheeks and bright eyes, splashing color on the gray. In this neighborhood, the mother who stepped out to call for them did so in Spanish, even though her own little ones barely knew the words.

Tessa's gaze remained fixed, watching as one child, older than the others, remained separated from the rest in her spot one yard over. The girl was not cast in color, but she was just as bright and shining to a reaper's eyes: a wandering soul.

The child stepped away, scooting up onto the side of the open porch of the quiet home next door, her sneakers dangling over the dead grass beneath. As if she felt the reaper's gaze, she looked up and cocked her head in surprise. Tessa gave her a crooked smile, walking up to her.

"Hi there. May I sit with you?"

The girl shrugged instead of answering, the thick, blunt-cut black hair above her red sweater bouncing with the movement. There was blood darkening the fabric, but the wound was unseen underneath, where the tires had ran over her small form and kept going.

Christy. Her name was Christy Ramirez, age eleven at death. Which had been a week ago, when she'd snuck out of her house in the middle of the night, while her parents argued, and slipped off the high sidewalk and onto blacktop. The man in the truck hadn't seen her, but when he did, he kept driving. Her family was still in mourning inside that quiet house. There was more to her story, but Tessa didn't need to know it, because this soul was not hers to take.

It was common enough, spirits clinging, refusing to follow their reapers. They stayed, became something unnatural. Dangerous. _This_ was different. Tessa could feel it.

"You don't look like him."

The words were soft. Shy. Tessa leaned in, as if she'd had a hard time hearing the girl. She tried to hide her discomfort—it wasn't often a ghost could recognize a reaper for what they truly were, unless they were expecting them.

"Like who?" Tessa asked.

She already knew the answer. The other reaper, the one who called himself Ankou. He must have been in his true form when he came to the girl.

He was the real reason Tessa was here, because, yes, while it was common to have spirits who refused to move on, it was very uncommon for a reaper to fail to reap seven souls in a row. Even if a reaper went rogue, fell to greed, they still wouldn't leave souls unattended. Surely, something must have happened to Ankou for him to disregard his duty.

Christy had been the first he'd missed. The other six deaths were scattered across the city, none of them related in any way other than their general location. Tessa had visited each place of death, each home of the deceased, expecting to find them haunted, but the ghosts she'd thought she'd find were gone. Not collected, not delivered to their afterlife, but simply missing.

_Wrong_. This was all wrong.

Christy didn't reply, but her eyes widened with worry. She slipped down off her seat, the image of her body flickering with the movement.

"He's coming back…" she whispered, then glanced up at Tessa, wide-eyed. "I have to go before he finds out I left. We're not supposed to leave."

Tessa grabbed the girl's wrist gently, white energy bleeding out beneath her palm where she made contact with the soul, but the spirit didn't react to the sensation. Tessa blinked, surprised at what she felt there: old magic. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to collect the girl, even if she consented. The same thing that was keeping the child hidden was also keeping her _here_.

"Christy, I need you to talk to me," Tessa said, trying to maintain her hold. "Why haven't you moved on? Why are you afraid?"

Christy shook her head, pulling her hand away. Fear lit her eyes. Tessa didn't like seeing it there; it spoke volumes.

"I'll be in trouble," Christy said, voice soft again, as if she might be heard. "If I'm not there when he gets back, I'll get _everyone_ in trouble. He'll make us hurt again…I'm sorry."

The girl's shape flickered again, and she was gone. Tessa was well experienced in chasing spirits and following the child's trail was as easy as walking now that she'd touched her. Tessa found herself outside of the neighborhood, in a forest, far from the home the girl had lived in.

_Wrong_.

Tessa's brow wrinkled in confusion. This place wasn't linked to the ghost. Christy shouldn't be here at all. She shouldn't have the power to travel like this. Tessa lifted her chin up, finding the ghost's trail again. All she had to do was turn, and see the house through the woods.

It was small, more of a shack than a home, and leaning slightly to one side. Its paint-stripped sides groaned at the gentle touch of the wind announcing her presence, and a corner of the roof slid further into the interior, opening its dark, gaping maul to the world. The front door was hanging open by one hinge, and seven ghosts were inside.

Tessa could feel them now, the others who were blocked from her, just as Christy had been. They were definitely there.

_Wrong_.

Tessa wanted to turn back, take up her duty once more—she was a reaper. This wasn't work for her. But, freewill was a fickle thing, something that, at times, Tessa didn't understand the purpose of. She used it now.

The rotted wood beneath her feet didn't feel her weight when she stepped up onto the porch and stared inside. Living humans had been here and left behind their messes, bottles and wrappers. A stained mattress sat in one corner and—

And an altar hugged the back wall, where the ghosts stood, side by side, eyes fixed on the empty space of the room, as if they couldn't see her. Tessa stepped closer, studying them. Young, old, all seven were here. No, not just here, but _bound_ here.

Tessa locked eyes with Christy. The child's stare was now blank, as if she were looking through the reaper.

Tessa shook her head. "Ankou, what have you done?"

She didn't expect an answer, but she found one when her gaze drifted back to the altar. It was junk mostly. Probably thrown together by rebellious adolescents who didn't understand what it even meant to worship a higher being. A plastic skeleton stood at center draped in fabric tied to form a robe and weighed down by long strings of painted beads. Candy had been left behind at its feet, cigarettes hung from the mouth of the skull, and the scent of liquor clung to the fabric flowers scattered across the small, rickety table on which it sat.

Saint Death. An amusing enough image, but nothing new to Tessa. She had taken plenty enough spirits who had even referred to her by that name. Except… Sitting on the hem of the robe was a small stone figure, stained in red. It too was shaped like a skeletal human but far older an image than this plastic sacrament, and it seemed to be soaked with blood, which dripped off onto the saint's robes. Tessa recognized the deity, even though it had been centuries since she'd seen it worshipped by the souls she reaped.

Tessa narrowed her eyes, studying it. This god of the dead had almost died with the Aztec mythology, but she knew his images remained, in museums, in ancient temples… But not _this_ statue, with its fresh blood. Not this statue with its sacrifice of seven standing at its sides.

Tessa's eyes widened. Father. She needed to find their Father.

_"Tessa, you should not be here."_

She froze, hearing the roar of wind as it rattled the shack. Time stood still, dust hanging in the air, and she tensed. "I know what you're trying to do, Ankou…"

_"Then you know I can't let you leave, sister."_

* * *

His every instinct told him there was something evil to be found in this town. There wasn't a case plastered across the front page of the local paper. There wasn't a trail of blood to follow. But he felt it, deep inside, the sense that something here was _wrong_.

His instincts had gotten better over the years. Though, some people might call said instincts mere paranoia at work with coincidence, those people hadn't trained themselves for bad-shit-happenin' vibes while in Purgatory, now had they? Still, he'd searched local folklore, missing persons, murders… Even their murders were tame in this city.

Dean stared out the window from his seat at the restaurant's corner booth, a still-half-full cup of coffee hugged against the palm of one hand. His free fingers lingered down beside him, itching to grab the knife in the side pocket of his jacket. That or his cell phone.

Because, if his instincts were alerting him to a hunt, there was that distinct possibility that something else was wrong. And, why wouldn't there be—after all, Sam was gone.

Sam was _gone._

"Just for a few days," Dean reminded himself, under his breath, but he pulled his phone free, nevertheless, and stared at the cover.

Dean ran his thumb over the numbers once before shoving it back into his jacket. He knew he should be calling Benny. He'd promised to do so, but a little voice inside his head kept warning him that calling the vampire, running off to meet him, might be that last straw. It might be the thing Sam decided to use as an excuse not to return. And then there was Kevin.

Kevin could have something new, something worthy of requiring him to call Sam, force his brother to return early.

Dean couldn't gather the strength to make that call either. No, because some sick part of him, some left over part from before Hell and the Apocalypse and Purgatory, wanted Sam to return on his own. For a change.

"—a refill, hun?"

Dean blinked to awareness, realizing his fingers had circled around the knife handle when he'd felt the woman approach. He eased himself back down, forcing a polite grin into place before looking up at the round-faced waitress glancing down at him, far too alert for this sleepy afternoon.

"Top me off, sweetheart," he said, pulling his hand back from the mug.

Pouring coffee always sounded like an old classic on the radio to him. It lifted his mood instantly, and he surveyed the waitress with a more forgiving eye. She was probably in her mid-fifties, carrying a tire around her middle, and he could smell how fresh her coppery dye job and perm were from where he sat. From her slight southern accent, Dean guessed she was probably new to the area. Her nametag said "Joyce."

"Say, Joyce—" it never hurt to try "—I write a weekly weird news blog, and I was wondering…anything odd happening locally? Animal attacks? A supposed haunting?"

_Seriously, Dean, get it together. _Dean winced when the chiding voice in his head sounded a hell of a lot like Sam's. Trying to form a case through a random stranger was scraping the bottom of the barrel, and he was damned certain his brother would be laughing his ass off if he'd been in the booth across from him. If Sam actually laughed like that anymore. Dean wasn't sure.

But instead of raising a narrow brow at him, the woman's eyes brightened with glee. "Oh! That sounds like a fun job!"

"Oh, it's always a joy, Joyce," Dean commented, and mentally amended his observation. She was_ definitely_ new to the area, a small town gossip to the core.

She giggled in response, and Dean flinched at the pitched sound. There was an ever-so-slight chance she was flirting with him, and his inner-Sam was back to poking fun.

"Now, let me think…" She sat the coffee pot on the edge of the table and then snapped her fingers in excitement. "I have one! Did you hear about that young man who robbed the women's lingerie store a few blocks from here? Here's the kicker—he was caught trying on the garments on the side of the road not a mile from the store." She giggled again.

Dean frowned. "Uh, that's…something."

Joyce pursed her lips. "You're right—_everyone_ has probably written about that by now. How about the cult the cops broke up not too long back?"

Dean perked up. "Cult?"

Joyce nodded, grinning down at him. "Oh, yes—a 'death' cult! Now, I wouldn't put too much stock into it, just a bunch of kids foolin' around right outside the city limits…But I heard from a customer who was related to one of them, and he said the kids were all spooked when they got busted. Cops got 'em for property damage and drugs, figured they were just high when they arrested them, 'cause apparently, those kids were rambling on about a bleeding statue and ghosts. They practically asked to get taken in."

"No kidding?"

"And the weirdest part…" Joyce leaned down, eager to tell the rest of the story. "One of the young men said he saw his watch stop, right before all the spooky stuff started. Isn't that strange? You ever heard of something like that?"

* * *

Tessa moved on instinct, reaching out to the statue, but she felt herself being pulled back. Time slowed for a moment as she levitated above the floor of the shack, but before she could shift into her natural form, she was slammed down. The boards beneath her might not have felt her impact, but the force of the wind holding her in place left them groaning.

She watched, almost fascinated, as ash and dust crept up through the floorboards, beginning to form a sigil around her body. She'd never seen anything quite like it—reapers didn't try to hurt their own, to _capture _their own. It was almost unheard of. Tessa swept out at the forming lines, sliding away before she could be trapped in place.

Then she saw him, hovering above her, Ankou in his true form. He was a beautiful spectral entity, glowing with strength and warmth, powerful from the many souls he'd transported over the centuries. But Tessa knew that if she spared a glance at the ghosts behind her, they were probably looking on in fear—this was not an image they knew to love, but one to fear, and Tessa was beginning to think that Ankou had given them good reason for that fear.

"Your duty is protect these souls!" Tessa snapped.

The reaper above her moved closer, until the thinnest of his white, smoky tendrils could touch her.

_"No, Tessa_," he said, with no mouth to be seen, "_it isn't_. _Our duty is to serve them, to move them from one life into the next. Have you ever asked yourself why it is we must perform such a duty? Why should we serve these beings when we are more powerful than they can ever hope to be?"_

Tessa felt anger uncoiling inside her. Their father had created them with purpose, to be shepherds of souls, and it was not meaningless, a fact which was confirmed every time a lost spirit accepted their fate and allowed her to take them to their next destination. To hear it dismissed as something pointless—she shook her head, annoyed with the other being.

"I don't know, Ankou, could it be because we're _reapers_?"

"_My point exactly_."

Tessa tore her eyes away from him, staring at the bleeding statue. "You really think you can use it? If humans are so beneath you, why would you even want to?"

"_Who said anything about being human? No, sister, what I wish to be is alive_.._.To be physical. To no longer serve." _He hovered past her, his energy tugging at the ghosts as he passed them one by one. Their images flickered as they weakened. _"Seven. The number of creation. Seven souls will be enough sacrifices for Mictlantecuhtli. He may have gone the way of the old gods, but his power remains in his undying blood. He will create life from death for me. Do you even know how long I had waited, how long I had served, before realizing how very easy it would be to escape it all?"_

"You're going to destroy souls, your charges." Tessa shook her head. "You can't undo such an act, Ankou."

It was too late. As he swept by, the ghosts faded into his form, swallowed by his light. The wind picked up in the room again with the reaper's strength, and blanketed by its steady howl, Tessa could hear a steady chant. A spell. Tessa pushed herself up onto her feet, glaring at the statue. Without being a part of the physical plane, she could touch the living, if only because they would soon be dead, but objects were so often out of reach. This, however, bled blood. Tessa wrapped her fingers around it, ignoring Ankou's howling cry. The other reaper slammed into her before she could lift the statue, but she sensed a change, right before the blow, the heat beneath her hand bleeding into her, tainting her, right before the world flashed to white.

Tessa couldn't recall closing her eyes, but she had to open them to see the room. Her vision blurred and refocused. It took her another moment to realize she was staring out from her place on the floor. Cold seeped into her flushed cheek, and she lifted it up off the board beneath, confused by the sensation.

There was a tightness in her form, somewhere at the center, and she pressed her fingers there, running them over her ribs in search of whatever injury Ankou had managed to cause her. Her vision blurred again, and she opened her mouth, wanting to call out, but air flooded in. She choked on it, hungry for the fill of it in her lungs, and the tightness suddenly receded.

_Breath_. She'd taken a breath. A true breath, not just the movement of air past her lips but the necessity of it…

She pressed her palm tighter against her chest and realized the cloth of her shirt was gone, as was the rest of the modern clothing she donned for the sake of her spirits. All that remained was smooth, pale flesh, and beneath that, a steady movement that rocked her body, ever so slightly.

"My heart's beating." Tessa tried to say the words aloud, but they came out hard, lost in a throat that felt dry and swollen.

_Thirst. This is thirst_.

She pushed herself onto her knees, and then up onto her feet, swaying at the sudden change in elevation. Her head throbbed where it had hit the floor, as did her elbow; a splinter of wood stuck out of the skin, and she pulled it free, wincing. How could something so small hurt so much?

She shivered, both with shock and at the cold, still air of the shack. The ghosts were gone. Tessa blinked, fighting back the ache in her head. Her thoughts were sluggish, but she remembered now, that Ankou had absorbed the ghosts before…

Tessa's eyes widened. _Before the spell completed. _She was alive. Not simply corporeal, but _alive_. Life from death, just as he'd said.

Her body shook again, this time more violently, and she stumbled back. Before she could get her bearings, she felt it, a sense of dread in the pit of her empty stomach. This, this must have been what some humans felt, when they sensed their deaths were near.

The thing that rose up from beside the altar was not her father Death, however, nor even a true reaper. It was a grotesque being, more solid than a ghost, but hovering above the floor. Without his light, without the beauty of his power, Tessa almost didn't recognize Ankou.

Tessa grasped at her throat, wishing she had something to sooth it, so she could speak to him, but one glimpse of his white, glassy eyes told her enough. There would be no reasoning with this thing. The shack began to shake, as if it could feel the anger radiating from the reaper, and Tessa's heart responded in kind, thudding against her ribcage in panic.

She did the only thing she could think to do, the only thing this new-found fear allowed her to do—she ran, for her life.


	2. Part 2 of 3

**Warning**: Non-explicit sexual situations and nudity, language  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit. The title of this story is based on the song by Mumford & Sons.  
**A/N**: This story is set during Season 8's "Torn and Frayed". It's somewhat a "what if" for that episode, so Sam is absent for most of this story. This is three chapters long, about 14k. Enjoy!

**PART 2/3**

The world outside was gray, this time because the early winter sun had began to set, and the Impala was a glistening black beacon on the lonely back road cutting through the woodland. It had taken most of the afternoon for him to question enough locals to find the general location of the "cult" hangout, and in that time Dean had determined that Joyce the Waitress had been right about the cult not really being a cult but a bunch of kids. But those teens probably would have sworn on a stack on anarchy cookbooks that they'd been chased away from their usual loveshack by some sort of angry spirit.

He'd started hunts on less info or evidence. Or so he kept telling himself every time he tried to reason whether this day counted as day one of Sam's "few" or day two. _Screw it_—there was work to be done. He hoped. He hoped to God there was a hunt here, because he simply couldn't take the alternative of going back to the empty cabin.

The watch was what made him think that maybe he wasn't just some paranoid bastard. It wasn't just what the kids described. Teens were always pretending to have been spooked by ghosts, the need for attention or some such shit, but the watch stopping…That detail nagged at Dean, and not just because apparently outcasts liked to wear bow ties and pocket-watches now—he would never understand trends. The watch stopping wasn't the usual sign for a haunting, but he could remember vividly when he'd seen it happen before…And he had absolutely no clue why that would be happening here, but it was worth checking out.

Dean acted on impulse as soon as he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He hit the brakes, pleased to feel them catch in time. When the car came to a full stop, his hand went straight from the wheel to his Colt, because that movement hadn't been an animal preparing to cross the road.

Even in the dim light, he could see her body as she stood. It was a woman. He raised a brow in surprise. _Definitely_ a woman.

She was maybe thirty feet away, just barely managing to pull herself up the side of the ditch, and Dean couldn't help but note the first significant detail of her appearance, her lack of clothing. She turned, arms wrapped around her to ward off the chill, and faced the Impala. Her dark hair was covering half her face, but he could still make out her features, ones he'd recognize anywhere, even though he'd only remembered seeing them three times before.

Dean let out a long breath, waiting for something to happen. Waiting to feel the change.

Because he was dead. Obviously, he was dead. His reaper was standing right in front of his car. Nude for some reason he couldn't comprehend. Unless she'd finally taken mercy on him this go around…

Had he wrecked the Impala? _Shit_. He was hoping Baby didn't die with him, but at least Sam wasn't in the passenger's seat. Small favors. Sam could go back to Amelia now, no decision to be made. He could forget about closing Hell or picking up the phone.

And Dean could finally follow Tessa to where he belonged. To where he should have been a long time ago.

Dean took another breath and realized something was wrong here, because he didn't feel very…dead. And Tessa didn't exactly look like he remembered. In fact she looked like she was in pain.

_Damn it_.

Without hesitation, Dean stepped out of the car, tucking his gun against the small of his back and hoping he didn't need to use it, before he took off at a run toward her. She took a step forward to meet him but stopped short, her eyes rolling up into her head as her knees buckled. He didn't reach her in time to stop her fall, but he dropped to his knees at her side, catching her head before it hit blacktop.

"Tessa?"

He quickly surveyed the sides of the road, looking for danger and finding none, before he went back staring at her pale face.

Her eyes opened slowly, as did her mouth. He could barely hear her scratchy voice. "Found me, Dean."

She sounded hoarse. Thirsty. Which she shouldn't have been, seeing as she was a reaper and all. In fact, he shouldn't have been able to see her at all. And he shouldn't have been able to feel her warmth against his hand. She shouldn't_ have_ warmth to feel, should she?

The tenseness left her body, and she passed out again.

"Tessa? Stay with me, dead-girl." He reached down, pressing a hand to her neck. She had a pulse. Tessa, the grim reaper, had a friggin' pulse. "What the Hell happened to you?" he whispered.

She didn't reply.

Dean pulled himself back down to earth, taking in the situation at hand, because he was suddenly aware of what was actually in front of him. A woman. Just a woman. How that had happened, he wasn't sure, but he _was_ sure of one thing. She needed help.

He slipped the jacket of his back, draping it over her as best he could manage, and quickly checked her for injuries. He slipped his fingers through her hair and found a swollen lump and then a nice matching set of bruises at her jaw line. Her arm was scraped up, too, but not as badly as her feet, which looked like…

Dean shook his head. "Running barefoot isn't fun, is it?"

Slipping his arm under her shoulders, he pushed her up, letting her head fall against his chest, hooked his arm under her knees, and lifted the both of them up off the blacktop with one heave.

Dean quickly walked back to the Impala, shaking his head and cursing under his breath. He was putting a naked reaper in his car. A naked reaper, who apparently, could bleed and bruise like a person now.

_What the hell happened, Tessa?_

* * *

The sound was familiar, constant, and thundering. It took Tessa another moment to realize it was the sound of her heartbeat, of blood rushing in her ears. Of life.

She blinked awake, exhaustion keeping her from pulling herself up off of the mattress, and stared out at the room, wishing she could see more than drab wallpaper covered in faded floral. The pillow beneath her was soft, comforting, but soaked with the tickling scent of old cigarette smoke, and the blanket covering her bare body was scratchy but warm. Still, she knew she needed to move.

She rolled fully onto her back, wincing. The yellow bulb from a lamp assaulted her eyes, and she reached up, patting her head at the sudden pain. She found a bandage there, and now that she knew the feel of it, she realized there was another at her elbow and something similar covering the bottoms of her feet. And she ached, every bit of her, but the worse of it seemed to be coming from her stomach. She felt empty there, as if all the muscles below her ribs were squeezing that void; she felt hungry.

"Tessa."

That voice was familiar. It belonged to a ghost she once knew.

She forced her eyes open again, and he was there, blocking out the blinding light, his green eyes cautious. But despite whatever suspicions she suspected he felt, he eased himself down onto the edge of the mattress beside her. When she tried to lift herself up, she felt his hand slip beneath her neck, cradling it.

"Try a little water—take it slow."

Tessa nodded, more to herself than him, and let a straw be pressed between her lips. The cold rush of liquid down her throat left her humming with pleasure, but he pulled the drink away before she could have nearly enough to satisfy. Still, she felt more awake now, enough to push herself up a bit higher. She rested her shoulder blades against the cool headboard, the scratchy blanket tucked beneath her arms to keep it up.

Dean let out a slow breath, as if he'd been holding it a while and leaned away from her, sitting the cup aside. Tessa wondered what else had been in the drink. Holy water? She had no doubt, and she let out a choked huff, as close to a laugh as her weary body would allow.

Dean raised a brow. "So…Tessa, long time, no see. Which is kinda the way it's supposed to work. Mind telling me how the hell I'm seeing you now?"

An image of Ankou's wraithlike form flashed through her mind, and she felt her pulse pick up speed. Her eyes widened as they sought out the closed door to the motel room. "Have you warded this place?" she asked, her voice still hoarse. "Have you laid down salt, painted sigils?"

Tessa felt a weight on her knee, Dean's hand over the blanket, holding her in place.

"Whoa—slow it down," he said, but despite his words, she could see the tension take over his body, stringing him even tighter than usual. "I figured you were running from something—by the way, you might want to invest in a pair of shoes. I put up protection as soon as I got you here. Now, back to you telling me what's going on, and what exactly I'm protecting us from."

Tessa shook her head. "I'm not even sure where to…" Her voice trailed off, and she started over when Dean's gaze hardened. "I followed another reaper here when I realized none of the souls he'd been called to collect recently had made it to their next destination. I thought he, Ankou, might be in danger, but…he was collecting the spirits. Seven, for a sacrifice."

Dean's brow wrinkled in confusion. "Aren't sacrifices usually better if they're, you know, _alive_?"

"Generally, but not for what Ankou had planned. He'd found a sacred relic of an old god named Mictlantecuhtli, one of the gods of death and a powerful being in his day. Not so much anymore, but the statue Ankou found still carries the magic of the underworld. Ankou must have been searching for ages to find the right spell to do what he's done." Tessa paused, swallowing down the memory of those ghosts, their blank stares. Those souls were no more now. They had been _used_. She'd felt their strength pass through her, become part of her and of Ankou. "He needed seven souls of the dead to create new life."

Dean stared at her a moment, as if seeing her anew. "Wait…is that how you're…? New life as in _human _life?"

Tessa shook her head. "I'm not sure that human life is what he intended…He was in his other form when he worked the spell. When I interfered, I was…as I now am."

"Human." Dean looked away from her, running a hand over his face. Tessa wished she could read his mind and know exactly what he was thinking. He was, after all, a hunter. He had lines that he didn't cross, and some that he did. Tessa had no clue where she fell now. "If you stopped him, if you're like this, then that means he didn't get what he wanted, right?"

"I wish I could said that worked. I didn't stop him," Tessa confessed. "We both touched the statue…Souls are powerful. Somehow, they were enough to change us both. But Ankou wasn't very happy to see me afterward—I don't think this worked out the way he wanted it to."

"So you're saying he wanted to be some living creature with all the reaper perks but instead he just turned into some flesh and blood fugly? And you, where's that leave you?"

Tessa ran her fingers over her arms, crossing them in front of her chest. "Corporeal. But it's more than that—some reapers, they go rogue, use magic to make themselves visible and solid. This is different. Like you said, I think," she hesitated, her voice lost, "I think I might have become a human. I can't feel anything, like I did before. I can't feel Death, I can't see the spirit realm anymore. My _list_ is gone from my mind, as if it never existed. I can't change my form or _move_."

Weak, was what she didn't say, but that was what she felt. She glanced up, feeling pinpricks in the corners of her eyes as the emotion welled inside her. This wasn't a common problem; no matter what she felt for the souls in her charge, fear and uncertainty were not familiar emotions for reapers. As a reaper, she knew her place, her duty.

She hated the way her voice shook. "Dean, what am I going to do?"

Dean stood up, and she watched his throat constrict as he swallowed down whatever he was going to say. "You're going to put some clothes on and eat some take out," he finally replied. He bit his bottom lip, that lost, confusing expression in his eyes again, and added, more quietly, "'Cause that's what a human would do."

* * *

God, he needed to call someone. It was his first instinct, picking up the phone, but now that he had it, he remembered that he'd promised himself he wouldn't be the one to call Sam back. That he'd let his brother choose. And, Benny…Dean didn't know how Benny could help matters. Cas sure as hell could, if the angel would have actually answered the prayers Dean had been muttering since he picked a friggin' reaper up off the road—and Dean really didn't want to consider _why_ the angel wasn't answering. And Bobby…well, that was a number he couldn't reach anymore.

Dean closed the phone again, pocketing it, and winced. Had it really been asking too much? Wanting one simple hunt to take his mind off of the shitstorm that was his family? Instead of simple, though, he'd gotten…Tessa.

Dean let out a sigh but didn't turn back around, staring at the closed curtains instead as he waited for the movement behind him to quiet. He told himself the antsy feeling wasn't from being forced to turn his back to her, but because the delivery boy was taking too long with their damn pizzas. And it certainly didn't have a thing to do with her being naked. Nope, been there, done that, which was, frankly, the only upside to his day so far.

"You can turn around. I'm decent."

Dean glanced over his shoulder, raising an appreciative brow when he saw her shifting her weight from foot to foot. He was lucky he'd had a pair of drawstring sweats in his duffel, but she was still swimming in them, her feet hidden by the extra inches of fabric. She'd tucked the front of his black T-shirt into the waist, but it wouldn't do to go out in the outfit. He'd have to pick her up some clothes of her own. And shoes. Guessing the size would be a bitch—jeeze, that shopping was even on his mind showed what a hell of a day he was having.

Noticing the frown on her face hadn't disappeared, he tacked on a doggish grin. "Yes, ma'am. You are, indeed."

It had the desired effect. Tessa bit down a smirk, a bit of the sadness in her eyes fading. "Such a gentleman," she muttered. "Quit acting like you didn't sneak a peek."

"Guilty. Might've copped a feel, too, while I was carrying your ass off the road," Dean returned.

"So, we're having pizza then?" She shifted again, obviously not able to find comfort and then eased back down on to the mattress. "I guess this is what you mean when you say you're starving."

Dean's brow furrowed. He'd almost forgotten about her feet. The soles were shredded and bruised, but there wasn't much to be done for them at the moment. He realized now why she'd opted to wait about showering until after the meal—she probably couldn't stand for that long yet. Dean made a mental note to give her some pain meds with the meal.

"Yeah—figured junk food was the way to go. After all, Death seems to enjoy it." Dean plopped down into the chair next to the lone round table instead of joining her—_another note to self, Mr. I'll-opt-for-the-King-size, ask to switch to a room with two fulls._ "Uh, speaking of your, uh, boss…"

Tessa shook her head. "I've told you once before, Dean, we don't find him, he finds us. You can try summoning him, but there's a chance…Well, he doesn't necessarily show up whenever we're in a bind. And this?" Tessa glanced down at herself. "I don't know if he'd help me anyhow now that I'm not...his."

Dean frowned. "Hey, I've met a lot of douchebags in the supernatural world, and he's, by far, not the douchiest of them all. You can't tell me he'd just leave one of his own hanging."

"Maybe not. But he tends to know when one of us has gotten ourselves into trouble, and he expects us to fix our problems ourselves. Much like your Father." Tessa picked at the bandage on her elbow. "Also, have you considered what will happen to you if we manage to get his attention?"

Dean bypassed Tessa's water cup for his beer bottle and gave it a sheepish frown. "Heard about the whole—?"

"The whole trying to put a leash on Death thing? Yeah, I did. Honestly, Dean, will you ever learn to not piss of things more powerful than you are?"

Dean took a swig. "Probably not. So, in conclusion, we shouldn't call on your boss unless I'd like to be wearing my skin inside out?" He sat the bottle back down, leaning back against the chair. Then, just as quickly, he leaned forward again, a new thought entering his head. "And how'd you know about the leash thing? Don't tell me there's a newsletter."

Tessa chuckled. "Sorry to rain on your parade, but the only memos we receive concern soul transportation. I found out because it was you who did the leashing. You're one of mine, Dean, and—"

Dean looked up when her voice broke off and noticed the slight flush to her cheeks. He grinned. "Wait, you keep up with me? Is that how you knew I'd be nearby? Why, aren't we the little spirit stalker…"

Tessa rolled her eyes. "Oh, please," she groaned. "Don't flatter yourself, Dean. I knew you were nearby, but I had no clue you'd be the next car to drive past me. And, as for stalking you? You're a trouble maker. For me, for all reapers—and you really don't want to hear the things Fate has said about you—so, yes, I do keep an eye on you, but it's because I'm afraid of what chaos you might unleash when I'm not looking."

"I have a guardian reaper," Dean mused. "That's helpful…in no way." Tessa huffed at that, but didn't sound put-out. When Dean gave her another glance, she was fixated on a spot on the wall, a guilty expression on his face. "What about when I was in Purgatory?"

She flinched, and Dean knew he'd hit home. "I knew you were there," she said, quietly.

"Huh." Dean suddenly didn't have much taste for his stale beer. "What if I had died there?"

Tessa was silent a moment, but then she turned, facing him, wearing an expression on her face that Dean couldn't quite get a read on. A sense of strangeness crept over him like building dread, because he realized he wasn't sure he'd like the answer she'd give him.

Not that he'd come to expect good things from supernatural entities—the opposite, actually—but Dean had felt himself unwinding as they spoke. Maybe it was Benny's influence, or maybe it was just her. Whether it was because she was his reaper or because he couldn't keep his mouth shut in the face of dying, Tessa knew him—really knew him—in a way that few on this planet or off of it did. He'd spoken to her freely in the past, because, hell, who was she going to tell? And she'd been just as frank with him. Steered him in the right direction a couple times too. He'd hate to admit it, but there were a couple answers to his question she could give that might cut straight to the bone.

"I would have come after your soul," she finally said, "whether you were on my list or not. I would have went into Purgatory and taken you where you needed to go. Because you didn't belong there, Dean, and you've already went somewhere you didn't belong, once before."

Dean let out a slow, relieved breath, giving his phone a glance. "And because I'm one of yours?"

She opened her mouth, but the sound of a knock at the door cut her off.

Dean clapped his hands together, ending the conversation. "Pizza's here."

* * *

"—I mean, not to say your issue isn't an…issue, but I think this reaper-wraith thing is priority. Not that I'm sure where we should begin looking for answers on how to kill it, since, technically, I guess one hasn't ever existed…Tessa?"

Tessa hadn't realized her eyes had drifted closed until she heard the sound of her name. Sleep's call was more soothing than she had expected it to be, and now that the chill of late night was in the air and her belly full, she felt its pull tenfold. Straightening against the headboard, she refocused on Dean, whose amused expression said he'd seen her eyes close.

"I'm listening," she assured, sounding more awake than she was. And, in actuality, she wasn't sure _why_ she was still listening. Dean had already went over her story again, picking it apart for details, researching the statue on his computer as he spoke.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, and started to fold away the empty pizza box and toss the greasy napkins in the trash. "You look like a kid who's fighting a nap. Why don't you just lay down for a bit. I need to take a shower before I head out."

Tessa frowned. "Head out?"

"Just to the store," he assured. "Don't worry, whatever the hell this guy has turned himself into, he's still a creature, and creatures work by certain rules. The wards should hold while I'm out."

"I wasn't worried," she snapped.

Dean shrugged one shoulder, ignoring her. "Go to bed."

Tessa had a few choice words for him concerning his commanding tone of voice, but the lull of sleep made her forget them quickly enough. She slid down beneath the covers, enjoying the feel of the soft clothing much more than the coarse blanket. And the scent was pleasing as well, clean but carrying a light musk. Dean's scent. She fell asleep with the conclusion in mind and awoke for the first time with that same scent, much stronger on its humid cloud, hitting her face.

She blinked, eyes squinting against the dull light of the room, and realized the odd sensation was steam rolling off the body standing next to the bed and drifting out of the open bathroom door. Dean had his back to her. It was bare, a white towel wrapped low around his waist, and he was close enough, as he dug through the duffel bag he had propped onto the chair, for her to see the beads of wetness rolling over his skin.

Tessa wondered what that damp flesh would feel like against her palm. She wasn't sure where the thought came from or why it sent a tingle of electricity down her body. Heat rose to fill her cheeks. This was lust, she realized. She'd never quite felt it before. She'd seen many naked bodies before, couples engaged in intimate poses during the final minutes of their lives, bathers awaiting a wet grave…She'd seen the form of a male many times, but her body had never reacted to it in the past.

Tessa realized her breathing had quickened and tried to even it once more before closing her eyes. She fell back into sleep so quickly that she wondered if the sight of Dean wasn't part of a dream—she'd always heard the humans talk about how vivid they could be—but she knew that wasn't the case when a nightmare greeted her. It was a familiar, though she'd never been to this dark forest before. She recognized it, Purgatory, even though no monsters greeted her there. She was alone and searching, unable to find him.

When she awoke the second time, she was frustrated, her body fidgeting between the covers, her head heavy on the pillow. She slapped a hand against the mattress, groaning at the lingering anxiety circling her mind.

The nightmare had never reached a conclusion, just as she had never reached one during the year Dean was gone. That was the last time she had tried to call upon her Master—she wasn't lying to Dean. Their father didn't come to them, his reapers, whenever they had a question. She knew from experience, because she'd tried to find him, ask if she should go into Purgatory for Dean Winchester. Reapers had a way of reaching the domain, a secret they had guarded well in the past, but it took breaking from their duty to do so. Tessa had never done such a thing, she didn't plan to do so then, but…

Tessa hadn't lied to Dean. She had reached the decision to go and fetch his soul if she felt him passing, but the longer he stayed away, still alive in that world of monsters, the more she wanted to fetch him before his time. But she was afraid of the consequences of such an action. Would helping him cause a greater ripple than leaving him there? Death had never answered her when she'd tried to ask him that very question.

And he wouldn't answer her now if she asked. Once he told her that was why he had given his reapers freewill, so they could find answers of their own. Tessa didn't understand the point of that at times.

Tessa pulled herself up, but she already knew Dean wasn't in the room with her. It was still, dark, but warm, the heater in the wall humming loudly. Too awake to fall back asleep, Tessa moved to the bathroom, her tender feet screaming at her as they were pressed into the stiff, stained carpet.

Peeling off the bandages had been a chore and adjusting the loose shower faucet an even greater one, but she was finally able to relax beneath hot water. It washed away the dirt at her hands and knees, the skin she'd scraped off her elbow, the small twigs and leaves still stuck in her hair. Her muscles lost their tightness beneath the stream. She hadn't realized something so simple could be so pleasurable for a human. No wonder they missed their lives so.

She sighed with relief, then with regret when she turned the faucet off again. She could hear movement in the other room—Dean was back.

Wrapping a clean towel around her chest, she shivered when she stepped out into the main room. "Dean?"

Distress was written across his face, but it disappeared when he looked up at her. Tessa cocked her head, enjoying his dazed expression. She had almost forgotten how appreciative he was of this form. _My only form now,_ she thought, but the idea didn't taste as bitter anymore, especially now that she'd seen Dean's approving stare. It wasn't the worse body to be stuck in.

"You told me I should take a shower."

Dean opened and closed his mouth. "I…yeah. I did." He shook himself back to the present and raised one arm, holding up two heavy plastic bags. "I had to guess with the sizes, but these looked about right. All the basics, and I got you a coat, too—good thing these department stores are all staying open on a hunter's schedule these days. If it wasn't for twenty-four hour places, we'd never get anything new. Why don't you, uh, put these on…okay? Then we'll re-wrap your feet."

Tessa took the bags from him but didn't move, even after he turned back to the computer. Loading it back up again. Something was wrong, she could see it in the way he moved. "Dean, don't you have to sleep?"

He shook his head, not bothering to look up. "I think you know the line, sister: I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Hilarious," Tessa said, rolling her eyes. She hesitated a moment longer. "Dean, if you're uncomfortable with me…With me being here while you sleep, perhaps we could—"

Dean's sharp glance cut her off. "No." He sighed. "Listen, I was going to get another room, but I don't think that's such a good idea anymore. We'll talk about it when you get dressed."

Tessa had never cared much for his bossy tone. She stood her ground. "We'll talk now. What's wrong, Dean? You're keeping something from me."

Dean attempted to stare her down and failed. He snorted. "You're picking up on this human stuff a lot faster than Cas."

"I deal directly with moody humans daily. Angels, traditionally, don't have that pleasure. Now spill, Winchester. Is this…is this about Ankou?"

Dean eased down into his chair, running both hands down his face and looking more exhausted than before. "Maybe. I heard the store clerk talking to a cop…There was a body found a few hours ago. It was, well, the official line is 'mauled by an animal' but the local gossip was leaning less toward the word 'maul' and more toward 'eaten'. I'm about to check and see if a report's been put up yet. Could have been an animal."

"Or it could have been him." Tessa shook her head, droplets sliding off her hair and onto her shoulder. "We don't… I mean, reapers don't eat people."

"Good to know."

"But eating human flesh is part of the Mictlantecuhtli lore."

Dean pursed his lips, nodding. "Yeah, I figured that might be the case. Think some of those good ol' pagan god munchies rubbed off on Ankou?"

Tessa didn't have a solid answer to that, but she knew Dean was determined to find one. "Dean, you need sleep."

Dean snorted. "Well, look at who's suddenly an expert on human needs," he muttered, typing something into the computer. Tessa marched to the table and closed the laptop. He pulled his fingers off the keys just in time and stared up, flabbergasted. "What the hell?"

"Are you always this big of an idiot? You're, what exactly? Going to drive out to find Ankou in the middle of the night—"

"Technically early morning…"

"—and then face something you've never fought before while you're half asleep? Is that part of the plan? Get yourself killed so you can ask your next reaper to help us out?"

Dean blinked. "I'm too tired for this shit."

"My point exactly."

"Christ, fine!" Dean threw his hands up in surrender. "I'll catch a few hours of sleep first and hope the megalomaniac-reaper is full. But I'm calling the bed."

Tessa raised a brow at him.

Dean huffed, kicking his boots off and dimming the center lamp. "Fine, sweetheart, you wanna share, we'll share. It's a big bed. Just try to control yourself during the night—I know you're getting in touch with your human side, and all, but..."

Dean ignored her glare, collapsing down on top of the blankets, still in his jeans and flannel over-shirt. Tessa took his closed eyes for permission and let the towel fall free, dabbing the dampness out of her hair and slipping back into his sweats and shirt. She could go through her new clothes in the morning.

She slid into the bed, as far from his side as she could manage and curled beneath the covers, her back to him.

"Tessa?" Dean's voice was already groggy, but it came out clear enough to catch her attention. "You didn't ask about Sam."

Tessa stared out at the dimly lit room. "Do you want me to?"

He was quiet a moment, and Tessa wanted to tell him that he didn't need to say a word, that she already knew, but that would be confessing how closely she sometimes kept an eye on him. He saved her from that embarrassment.

"No," he whispered. "Thanks."

"Goodnight, Dean."

"G'night, bossy stalker."


	3. Part 3 of 3

**Warning**: Non-explicit sexual situations and nudity, language  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own Supernatural. Written for fun, not profit. The title of this story is based on the song by Mumford & Sons.  
**A/N**: Thanks for reading!

**PART 3/3**

The rumble of his baby was a comfort, the only one available to him at the moment. He took a hand off the wheel, rubbing the grit out of his eyes.

Dean wasn't one to admit to nerves before a hunt, but he was feeling edgy today. It was barely dawn, a crisp, renewed cold to the air that had been absent the day before, and he was running on too few hours of sleep, but such was friggin' life, or whatever the hell people said. He hadn't been able to go back to sleep after the first time he'd woken up, realizing his too-big bed was actually too-small and his hand was pressed against Tessa's arm.

She'd looked so peaceful, like she was enjoying her sleep tremendously. Which made sense, since this was the first night she'd ever had the pleasure. Dean knew the situation should be more awkward. Hell, it was usually more awkward with normal women, but for some reason that part of his brain that should have been on high alert wasn't. He was relaxed, comfortable, next to Tessa.

And then it had all come crashing down on him, how he was here, in the middle of nowhere with a woman who had been a supernatural creature twenty-four hours ago, while Sam was a few states away, presumably, trying to decide whether or not he was leaving the hunting life for good.

No, Dean hadn't been able to sleep after that, and he kept telling himself worry was the only reason he couldn't close his eyes and that it had nothing to do with that split second where he'd forgotten who and what Tessa was, where he'd just thought he was in bed beside a beautiful woman who wanted to be there next to him.

_Such is friggin' life_, he reiterated.

He pulled the Impala into a tucked-away drive off the main road. The victim's house, a cabin far too close to the "cult" shack for comfort, was about quarter a mile off, and Dean hadn't spotted any cops making their morning rounds. He reached for the door handle and hesitated.

"I still don't think you should go," he voiced.

Tessa shifted in the passenger's seat, and he could feel her glare, even if she wasn't looking directly at him. "We went over this, Dean. I know more about Ankou than you."

"You're human now—"

Tessa's brow wrinkled in frustration. "Yes, I realize I'm just as fragile as you are…"

"A.) I'm not _fragile_," Dean snapped, "and B.) you might be a human but you're not a hunter. I am. I don't like taking someone who can't protect themselves out on a hunt."

Tessa shook her head, pulling the zipper on her coat up to her neck to block out the cold seeping into the idle car. "And what if you miss something important because you don't know what to look for? I'm going with you."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off the ache that came too little sleep. When he looked up, Tessa's expression was pleading, despite her set jaw and pursed lips. He could see the desperation in her eyes, and he realized that, even if he didn't need her for this, _she_ needed to be there. To try to fix whatever the other reaper had done—this was family business for her.

Dean sighed. And maybe he was wrong. Maybe he did need the back-up after all. "Do I need to show you how to use the sawed-off again?"

"Got it in one," she said, her lips curving slowly.

"Good, then let's go."

Dean felt as if he'd been on this trek before. The gray morning leeched the color from his surrounding, and the woods were oddly quiet. He could take a guess as to why—the normal didn't like the abnormal invading their turf, which meant Ankou was probably still nearby, waiting for them.

Dean was on high alert, but his body was loose and ready for a fight. This felt familiar, reminded him of the quiet before an attack in Purgatory, where birds and squirrels weren't quite an issue.

He caught a glimpse of Tessa at his side, slowly maneuvering her sawed-off up higher as they walked. She felt it too then.

Dean tucked his handgun, loaded with silver, against the small of his back, trading it for the demon killing knife nestled inside inside his jacket. He'd cussed a blue streak when he'd seen the knife still in weapon's bag, but now he was happy Sam had left it behind for him. After all, he had no clue what the hell was going to work on this thing. The knife wouldn't kill a reaper, but Ankou didn't quite hold that rank anymore—no wonder the guy was pissed—and all supernatural entities had weaknesses. Silver, iron, salt…one of them had to work. And if not? Dean's fingers tightened around the handle.

_Maybe we'll get lucky_.

Dean stopped, the cabin, crime scene tape included, in sight, but he wasn't paying it much mind, his eyes roaming the forest instead. Checking out the scene of the murder, since it was closer, and then the shack where the spell had went down, had been his plan, but he couldn't ignore the warning prickle at the back of his neck.

_Change of plans._

"Do you think he's moved on from here?" Tessa asked, her voice hushed.

Dean glanced at her, frowning. _Nope_. But he didn't answer the question aloud. "The shack is a half mile south. How are your feet feeling?"

Tessa stared at him a moment before it sunk in. She nodded her agreement, and when his steady walk turned into something quicker, she kept pace.

"Son of a bitch," Dean swore, feeling the wind around them pick up.

An angry howl cut through the trees, and there was no mistaking it for an animal. Dean chanced a glance over his shoulder and spotted Ankou for the first time. The creature was towering, but Dean could recognize it for the reaper it once was. Its skeletal face glared at him, seeking him out like prey, and tendrils of white smoke rolling off its robed body. Instead of being the spectral being Dean had seen the first time he'd met Tessa, in the hospital where he almost died, this creature was solid. Fugly had been an understatement.

It opened its wide, hinged mouth and howled at the two again.

"You didn't mention…it could fly…" Dean breathed, picking up speed and putting a steadying at Tessa's lower back in hopes that she'd do the same.

"Levitate," Tessa corrected, almost stumbling. She winced. "Sorry."

The shack came into sight, its useless front door hanging from one hinge, and Dean hoped this little sprint hadn't been for nothing. "You really think he's stupid enough to leave it there?"

He didn't get an answer. Tessa grimaced, her damaged feet slowing her down, and Dean grasped the back of her shirt, pushing her along beside him. They reached the front steps before she turned, raising the weapon in her hand, and firing.

The wide spread of the salt hit Ankou, and he slowed, skeletal fingers scratching where the salt had pinged off his twisted form. The creature growled, in either pain or anger, but he was far from finished.

"Inside!" Dean snapped, shoving her through the doorway and turning to block it. "Get the statue!"

Ankou's clouded eyes widened in surprise, and he stared past the hunter, watching Tessa disappear into the shadowed shack. "_No!"_ it hissed.

Dean took that as confirmation. "So you are that stupid," he muttered. He took a step out, closer, holding his knife at the ready as the creature charged. "Why don't you concentrate on the person standing in front of you, you ugly son of a bitch."

Dean's answer was a burst of wind that tossed him to the side. He groaned against the dirt and felt a chill crawl up his spine as the reaper creature closed the space between them. Knowing he'd hesitated a second too long, Dean rolled over, knife blade out for attack, but he froze the moment he saw what had stopped Ankou from finishing him off. Tessa was on her knees at the foot of the meager porch, a small bloodied statue in one hand. She lifted her arms, holding the skeleton statue above a flat rock protruding from the ground.

_"Don't!" _the creature called out, its voice slow and slithering. _"You'll undo what has been done!"_

Tessa's finger were white against the bloody stone surface, but she lowered the statue slightly, confusion written across her face. "That's what you should want," she said, quietly. "Look at what you've become."

Ankou cackled, his skeletal grin too earnest for Dean's liking. The hunter pushed himself up onto his knees, but not quickly enough. The creature raised a hand, throwing a cold wind at Tessa. She fell over with a cry, sliding against the earth until she was far from the shack and the statue was rolling free from her grasp. The relic shook and then flew through the air toward Ankou. The reaper caught it, a hard, clucking sound shaking his body. A laugh, Dean realized.

"_Yes, and I would be even more powerful, if you hadn't interfered_," he said, levitating higher, so he could tower over Tessa's sprawled form. _"But there is no need to reverse what can be fixed… As soon as I have your new soul, I should be able to repair the spell."_

Dean lunged up, shoving the knife into the reaper's leg. The screech was deafening, but Dean held on a moment longer, watching the white energy crackle from the wound, up into the blade, before he had to drop his arm and leave the weapon behind.

Ankou rose up, losing his grip on the statue. Dean caught it as it dropped, tucking it in close to his chest, but by the time he looked back up, the creature had flown off toward a cusp of trees, leaving his prize behind.

Dean reached down, grabbing Tessa's wrist to pull her to her feet. "You okay?"

She stared at him, dazed, before nodding.

Dean's grip slid down to her fingers, locking on to her more gently. "Come on, Tess—we need to go. _Now_."

* * *

Tessa had never considered silence to be heavy, but it was during their ride back to the motel. She could feel it on her chest, sitting liking a weight above her heart. Neither of them spoke, Dean's eyes bright and alert as he watched the window, looking for any signs of pursuit, and Tessa distracted in her own way as well, by the statue sitting in a shopping bag beside her.

Stepping into their room didn't change that, not for her. She watched the hunter move with efficiency, double checking each window's salt line, and, with a flourish, tossing his jacket and rolling up his sleeves so he could dig through his weapon's bag. He laid out a two guns and began to count out ammo.

"Dean?"

He looked up a second, before going back to task. "Yeah, I know, the salt probably won't hold him very well, but he didn't seem to enjoy the round you sent his way, so I figured we should try—"

"Dean."

"Wish I could have put a silver round in him too, but—" His voice broke off when he saw the expression on Tessa's face. "What's wrong?"

Tessa shook her head, shed her coat, and eased down onto the edge of the bed, back to holding the heavy bag between her hands. "Dean, you know what we should do."

Dean frowned. "You want to destroy the statue."

"It'll fix this. You heard him."

"Yeah, and breaking it might make this permanent, too. Bastard could have been lying. Could have been telling you what you wanted to hear." But Dean's expression said he didn't believe his own words. The hunter left his weapons behind, sitting down beside her and pulling the heavy load away. It landed on the table with a clunk.

"What I wanted to hear…Why would you think that's what I wanted to hear?"

Dean sat up a bit straighter, his knee brushing against hers, and she could feel his eyes on the side of her face, bringing the heat to surface. "You don't want to be a reaper again?"

Tessa turned, taking in the shape of his frown, the line above his brow, the curiosity in his eyes. "I don't hate being a human," she said. "It…I guess it might have its perks."

Dean swallowed, hard enough for her to see, and she smiled sadly at him. "But, I'm not fully human, am I? Never will be. You can't undo what you really are with a spell. You'll never see me as just a woman."

She moved to stand, but Dean's hand slid over hers, holding her in place.

"Look at me," he ordered. And she did, surprised by the hardened gaze on her. "You bleed. You eat food. You sleep…a lot. You breathe." He reached up, resting his calloused fingers against her neck. "You're human, Tessa. And I might not ever see you as just any woman, but I don't think seeing you as something_ more_ is such a bad thing."

Tessa didn't want to lean in against him. She wanted to argue. She wanted to remind him that these things never ended well. She wanted to put an end to this and smash that damned statue into a thousand pieces. She wanted to touch Dean Winchester more, though.

Tessa pressed her lips to his, her eyes closed as she took in the scent of him, the taste of him, the feel of him—soft, rough, wanting. He deepened the kiss, and she moaned against him, enjoying the sweeping brush of his tongue. Tessa acted on instinct, tugging at his shirt so that she could reach the warm, taunt skin of his stomach beneath.

He broke away, letting her breath, and before she realized it, her clothes were forming a pile on the floor next to his. He cradled her back, leaning her down onto the bed but never pulling away from her body.

"Tell me what you want, Tessa," he whispered.

She could feel his breath against her neck, and it sent a current down her body that caught fire by the time it reached her stomach. Every brush against him left her yearning for the next flame.

"I want to be like this," she answered, raising her chin so he could press a kiss against her chest. His hands slid down her body, strong but gentle, and she felt them pause on her thighs, promising more. "I want to be like this forever."

* * *

"_Tessa_…"

Dean let out a shallow breath, trying to slow the pounding in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, leaving him with a chill now that the heat was abandoning his body, but her warmth still blanketed him like an afterglow. Her slender arms wrapped around his body, one leg thrown over his hips beneath the cover, sound of her own winded breaths a comfort to him.

He reached up, resting a hand against her dark hair before craning his neck to kiss it. "You're happy."

He was startled by the surprise in his voice. He hadn't meant for that to slip out, but he didn't take it back.

Tessa pulled herself up, pressing him deeper into the pillow so that she could stare down at him. "I am," she confirmed. She smiled, sadly, her eyes wet.

He studied her a moment longer, not trusting himself to reply until his pulse slowed. "I'm not going to like how this ends, am I?"

She swallowed and shook her head. "I don't think we have a way around it, Dean. We have to destroy the statue, no matter what it does to me. We can't let Ankou have the power it contains."

Dean frowned, rolling her over onto her side so he could push up onto his elbows. "He won't have it, because I'll protect you. And, and the statue. I have a place we could put it, so it would be safe, and if that son of a bitch is stupid enough to come after you—"

Tessa cut him off with a soft kiss. "Dean, it's not enough."

"It—" Dean broke off, and then slipped out of the bed, pulling his shorts up over his hips as he moved. "This isn't really about that, though, is it? This is about _order,_ and balance, and keeping things on the right path…All the shit that has screwed Sammy and me over our whole lives."

Tessa's fingers caught his. "Dean, I'm sorry. You're right. This is about the order. We've been down this path before—_you've_ been down this path before."

"I know." Dean bit out the words, but he could feel the defeat laced between them, and it left him hollow. His eyes stung for something he couldn't have, and he turned away from her, not letting her see. He pushed it down, hoping it wouldn't show in his voice. "Okay…So what now? We destroy the statue, and you'll…If Ankou goes back to reaper form, he's going to be an even bigger bitch to deal with. You get that, right? You'll be facing him on your own."

"Dean, if there was any way—"

"Yes, she's aware of that, Dean." The interruption caught them both by surprise, and Dean froze in place, almost afraid to turn and see the visitor sitting at their small breakfast table. But he knew. Without a doubt, he _knew_ who was there. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Death didn't bother to look up from the greasy concoction he was currently unwrapping. "However, Ankou is no longer her problem," the horseman continued. He kept his eyes politely averted from the pair as he lifted his pastry, taking a steaming bite from it before sitting it back down. "Fried Moonpie," he noted. "I brought you one, too, Dean. As well as something else you seemed to have misplaced."

Dean's eyes widened when he saw the demon killing knife sitting at the center of the table. Tessa slipped off of the bed, standing next to the hunter, a sheet wrapped around her body.

Death glanced her way once. "Hello, Tessa." He turned his attention to Dean, head cocked in mock interest. "How is it I'm not surprised that a Winchester managed to find my absent daughter? Do you recall, Dean, what I told you at our last meeting?"

Dean blanched. "Uh—" He tried to smile but abandoned the idea quickly enough. "Can't we just, uh, move past that?"

Death didn't answer immediately. He dabbed a napkin against his mouth. "You," he finally replied, "are very lucky you didn't attempt to contact me again." He reached out, picking up the bloodied statue and giving it a meager glance, as if were a stapler he'd misplaced. "But I have no doubt that, between you and your brother, you're going to be very tempted to call upon me when you soon attempt what you're planning to attempt."

"Wait, do you know something about the—"

Death raised a warning hand, and Dean shut his mouth. "I always know something about something, Dean. What I told you before," Death said, "still applies." He lifted the statue up to eye level. "I had thought that fool Mictlantecuhtli would no longer be causing problems, but these things do happen. Now, I suppose we should get to the business of righting wrongs. I'm pleased to hear that the two of you already understand why this must be done."

He lowered his gaze on the pair, as if he'd just now taken in their unkempt appearance. His frown tightened, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't bother with goodbyes, children. They're tedious and unnecessary, as I'm sure, eventually, you _will_ die, Dean. Come, Tessa."

Dean felt Tessa's fingers squeeze his hand a split second before the statue crumbled midair, its hundred or so pieces falling to the carpet. Dean stared at the spot where the mess landed, not realizing until then that Tessa was no longer beside him and that Death had left the room behind.

Dean was alone.

* * *

Tessa watched the hunter move across the room, slipping into a fresh pair of pants, pulling a shirt over his shoulders. The lost look on his face made her ache somewhere deep, in a place she didn't think she'd feel anymore. When he finished, he sunk down into his chair, staring at weapons he'd left out. He picked up the demon killing knife, holding it loosely between both hands, as if wasn't quite sure what he should do with it.

Death stepped beside her, humming to himself. "He and his brother are the two most troublesome mortals to have ever lived," he said quietly, as if noting the weather.

"They do cause trouble," Tessa agreed, but her voice came out softer than she expected. "This isn't good for him, is it?"

Death sighed, swallowed down another bite of his moonpie. "He and his brother are on a new path, far different from the one intended for them, but a path we could follow, nevertheless. And your presence…I'll admit it might have thrown him off. It isn't a good thing, when a man looks forward to his own passing, and I believe Dean Winchester now has more than his usual reasons for looking forward to my mercy, don't you?"

"What should I do?" Tessa asked.

Death gave her a measuring stare, tilting his head to the side when she didn't continue. "You've always been rather good at what you do, Tessa, but, on occasion, you severely lack a proper understanding of all that I created you for. I do believe this day you spent as a human has better educated you on the use of free will?"

Tessa smiled down at the floor. "It has," she admitted. "You heard me, when I asked for advice before… concerning Purgatory. You heard, but didn't answer. You wouldn't have answered if I'd called for you yesterday, either."

"I expected you to figure it out on your own," he said, then shrugged. "Next time, perhaps you won't hesitate to make a move to right the balance. Now, I have to get back to work, as do you. Hurry this along."

He blinked out of existence, leaving Tessa behind. She knew he couldn't see her, but she stepped up to Dean, nevertheless, and propped against the windowsill beside him.

"Dean." She reached out, resting her hand on top of his head, and if he felt a thing, he didn't show it. "I know you wouldn't want me to, but I have to take this from you. As much as it means to me, you can't carry this memory. It's too dangerous for you. But I'll give it back one day. When I have to take you, I'll give it back."

When she pulled away, Dean hesitated a moment before moving back to his weapon's bag, packing the ammo away. Tessa knew what he would be doing next. He would leave this place, drive back to a cabin and to a brother who'd already be waiting for him there. He would mention a hunt that was a bust. He would step back onto his new path without her.

And she hoped she wouldn't have to see him again too soon.

**END**


End file.
